


Dawn

by dismalzelenka



Series: And the Sky Will Burn [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, DAPolyshippingDay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lemon, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Thedas, Multi, Soft Feels, plot then porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dismalzelenka/pseuds/dismalzelenka
Summary: A birthday surprise in Montsimmard turns emotional when old memories and fresh starts collide.Takes place about two years after the ending of Your Arms Feel Like Home.
Relationships: Amell/Jowan/Cullen Rutherford, Female Amell/Cullen Rutherford, Female Amell/Jowan (Dragon Age), Jowan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: And the Sky Will Burn [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1112292
Kudos: 3
Collections: Polyshipping Day





	Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm not saying I should have been writing this sandwich a long time ago, but my whole sexuality came back from vacation unannounced and kicked my door down for me to write this, so that probably means something. 
> 
> This is also the most smut I've ever written in one sitting. I hope there are minimal typos, but I'm afraid if I don't post it now, I'm going to anxiously sit on it forever, so here we go. 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was always something otherworldly about seeing the dawn through the skylight windows. Solona was plenty used to seeing those telltale streaks of color from the other end of the day, usually following hours of binge drinking or manic painting.

Waking up to them was much, much rarer.

It took a minute or two to shake the sleep from dream clouded eyes, transfixed as she was on whatever weird liminal feeling this bizarrely early morning instilled in her. Piece by piece, memories of last night returned.

For once, she had agreed to keep the apartment booze-free for a full twenty-four hours. Jowan had insisted. She'd protested thoroughly, of course. "Come on, it's my birthday!" she'd begged through pleading, sparkling eyes, but he'd remained firm.

"Cullen? Back me up here!"

He'd merely shrugged, carefully adjusting the glasses her flailing had knocked askew. "There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

His flat response drew a rare chuckle from Jowan, who up til that point had been nervously smoothing the front of his blue and black striped button up with unsteady hands.

This was new territory for all of them.

"I swear, love, you'll be happy to have remained sober for this," Jowan promised. The quickly masked wince on his face further highlighted the unprecedented nature of the situation. An unfamiliar familiarity. A pet name she hadn't heard in months, one that felt as foreign now to her ears as it seemed to taste on his lips.

Cullen cleared his throat and broke the uncomfortable silence. "Shall we be off then? Wouldn't want to be late."

"Says you," Solona grumbled. She grabbed her signature leather jacket and bent down to finish lacing up her boots. "Neither of you have said where you're taking me."

"That's what surprises are," Jowan said, affectionately ruffling her hair.

There it was again. A telltale stiffness to a familiar motion, a measure of distance to something that used to flow as naturally as moving water.

The cab ride was silent, but not entirely uncomfortable. Cullen had passed the driver a crumpled slip of paper that presumably contained the address, muttering an awkward thank you in broken Orlesian before clambering into the back seat.

Jowan sat to her right, plaid green and brown scarf clashing horribly as usual with his shirt, shaggy hair unkempt alongside what was at this point a perpetual five o'clock shadow. He had a way of looking thoroughly uncomfortable in almost every setting imaginable, but the warmth of his hand on her thigh told her he was trying his best today.

Cullen sat at her left, curly blonde hair styled back neatly with gel. He'd chosen a maroon sport coat to wear over a black polo with a golden lion stitched onto the pocket. Tucked into dark grey jeans, naturally. Solona doubted the man had ever owned a nice pair of slacks in his life. She'd seen his wardrobe. It was one set of dress blues, two officer uniforms, a single, raggedy set of khakis, and fifteen identical black shirts next to exactly three pairs of jeans: blue, grey, and black, all cut the exact same way.

Maybe she'd get him a suit tailored for _his_ birthday next year.

His boot knocked softly into hers, and when she looked up he was smiling softly at her with something strangely close to _adoration_ , and now it was her turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat.

“Everything alright?” Jowan murmured.

There was an odd sort of energy in the cab between the three of them. It was as though no one wanted to be the first to speak above a whisper, like the slightest increase in volume would shatter these small and tentative beginnings slowly unfolding across their laps. There would be no first kiss tonight; no, it was far too late for that. There had been a myriad of kisses over the years, a plethora of just plain fucking with the occasional lovemaking sprinkled in, all punctuated by explosive fights and violent nights alone. She had words for all of those things, but _this?_ She didn’t know what to call this. There was nothing in her vocabulary that described the kind of energy that surrounded them.

“I think so,” she said, the words barely a whisper by the time they made it to her lips.

“ _Alors_...” the cab driver began tentatively. “ _Lequel de vous est l’amant_?”

Solona’s head shot up, the suspended stillness shattered by his gravelly voice as the words sank in. “Um,” she began. “I don’t...what...” She felt her cheeks turn pink and she elbowed Jowan in the ribs for confirmation. “Hey, did that mean what I think it did?” she whispered.

Jowan’s face was beet red. “He...ah...yes, probably,” he stammered. “He wants to know which of us is...you know. The um.” He lowered his voice to an even quieter whisper. “The lover.”

A nervous giggle shot out from her lips. “Oh. _Oh!_ Right. Yep. Hah, I um.” She scrambled for both of their hands. She didn’t even have to look at Cullen to see the flush of crimson on his cheeks.

Maker’s balls, how old was she, twelve?

The driver, to his credit, seemed to pick up the implication. “Ahh,” he said, eyebrows waggling. “ _Ménage à trois_ , _eh?“_

Jowan sank further into his seat. “Maker,” he muttered.

“Yes?” she squeaked.

“ _Ah, très bien_ ,” he nodded sagely as he pulled the cab into a cramped parking space. “ _Bonne chance!_ ”

“Maker’s breath,” she heard Cullen mutter. He clambered out of the cab the second the driver parked it. Jowan quickly followed suit, offering her a hand to help her out. He refused to meet her eyes.

“So...” she began, fighting the laugh toying at the edge of her breath. “Who’s supposed to be paying him?”

“Oh!” Cullen dug through his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of bills he then promptly thrust in through the open window. “Um. Yes. Right. Thank you.”

The cab driver laughed. “ _Merci!”_ he said. He winked, rolled the window up, and drove off, leaving the three of them standing, rather flustered, at the curb.

“Well,” Solona said finally. “Alright then, where the fuck are we--”

She trailed off as she looked around. In front of her stood the spiraling marble columns of the Musée de Montsimmard, carefully chiseled marble steps rising elegantly to a massive glass entryway where crowds of well dressed people milled about. A smile broke out on Jowan’s face. “Well,” he said finally. “We’re here.”

She’d been to the museum plenty of times already, of course. Between research for her coursework and the occasional casual tour, she was intimately familiar with its layout. Lately, however, embroiled as she was in her writing, she hadn’t been in quite some time, and the familiar delicate wire structures gracing the front pavilion felt like a warm welcome home.

“I hope you like the exhibit we’ve come to see,” Cullen said. She was suddenly aware of him standing behind her, warmth radiating across her back as he gently rested his chin on her shoulder. She glanced tentatively at Jowan, bracing herself for his reaction, but for once, he seemed oddly content, not even a whisper of a grimace on his features. He simply extended his hand again, smile never leaving his face.

“It is quite striking,” he said, eyes crinkling with mischief as he laced his fingers with hers.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What the fuck have you two been up to?”

“Patience, my dear,” Cullen whispered into her ear, sending a warm prickle straight down her spine. He enveloped her other hand with his, a much rougher grip than Jowan’s but no less gentle, and the two of them tugged her forward.

The foyer awaited her, the familiar cream colored walls, plaques, paintings, and sculptures welcoming her in with soft familiarity. She paused for a moment to take it all in, drinking in the comfortable, muted stillness with an almost desperate sort of need. She could come here every day and never tire of it.

Cullen and Jowan, however, had other ideas. “Come on, this isn’t what we came here for,” Jowan said with a grin.

Solona pouted but relented as they tugged her toward the reception counter. Jowan strode forward, and Solona took a moment to appreciate the uncharacteristic amount of confidence he had gained since they’d moved to Orlais. She spoke the language, yes; she _had_ to, for her degree, obviously, but Jowan was the only one of the three of them who was comfortably, conversationally fluent so far.

It was nice, seeing him like this. He’d never been particularly confident in social situations back in Kirkwall. Neither of them had been, really; she was always just better at hiding it behind humor and dismissive indifference, but it was hard to relax in a city filled with the ghosts of so many of her worst memories. Montsimmard was a fresh start for them all, and Jowan was beginning to thrive in the freedom of it.

She and Cullen approached the counter after him. The woman behind the desk, a willowy, freckled, mousey-haired woman with soft brown eyes and an even softer voice stared at her for a moment, wide eyed. “Madam Amell!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “We are so excited to have you here with us today! Please, follow me!”

Solona felt her eyebrows climb her forehead. “Okay, seriously you two, what the fuck is going on?” she said finally.

Cullen said nothing, simply nodding his head after the woman with a faint smile playing on his lips. Solona pouted but relented.

The main exhibition hall branched off to several smaller rooms. They followed the receptionist into one of them, and what Solona saw knocked the air straight from her lungs.

“Thank you all for joining us today!” a guide announced from the podium. “As many of you know, the Musée de Montsimmard rose from the ashes of what was once, for centuries, the largest Circle of Magi in Orlais.We are forever grateful for the patronages that have allowed this incredible undertaking, and continue to allow it to this day.

“For centuries, our city has shined a beacon for anyone with magic shimmering in their veins. In recent decades we have stood firm against countless onslaughts against the personal freedoms of those once caged within these walls. Today, we are showcasing works by a remarkable woman, an artist of incredible talent who has overcome so many of the very challenges this city has striven to eliminate since the Circles were first dissolved. This exhibition is a tribute to mages everywhere: the celebrated, the hated, the many survivors of untold tragedy, and the memories of those who never saw the sun rise on their liberation.”

“Jowan?” Solona felt tears in the corners of her eyes. “Cullen? What is this?”

Cullen said nothing and simply wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulder. Jowan stood at her other side and slipped an arm snugly around her waist.

“Everyone, in honor of the survivors of the horrific Tranquil Solution, in honor of mages everywhere, we present: _Liberté!”_

“That’s...I...”

In the center of the exhibit was a painting, _her_ painting. A crumbling tower rose in the background. A girl in the foreground stood in rags, a girl with dark curly hair, a girl that represented everything she wished she could have had in her childhood, stood in the forefront, one arm outstretched overhead, triumphantly shooting a beam of light to the heavens as the sun peeked over a horizon of brilliant blues and purples and twinkling stars.

The guide was now reading a brief biography of the artist, of _her,_ but his voice faded into static as she stood in shocked silence. She could recall every moment of painting that image with sparkling clarity, every sleepless night and lyrium binge and emptied bottle of liquor swept to the wayside in manic obsession.

The finishing touches had been done without electricity, by candlelight and mage light, in despairing silence while the streets of Kirkwall burned.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t understand. I don’t _understand,_ we left all of that behind, I thought it was lost forever, how did you--how did either of you--”

“The rest of the precinct helped,” Cullen said wryly. “We went and salvaged it all from your old apartment after the dust settled. It came over with me when I finally packed up and met the two of you for good, and the rest of it was all him.” He gestured at Jowan, who was beaming.

“I may have pulled some strings with some colleagues here,” he admitted. “I was hesitant at first, and certainly not very hopeful, but the director here was, ah, quite enthusiastic about the collection once she saw it and heard your story.”

Solona sniffled and leaned her weight into their arms. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Would you like us to give you some space?” Jowan asked softly.

She shook her head. “No,” she sniffed. “No. Don’t go.”

The rest of the evening passed in a daze. At some point, the curator approached her and had a conversation that must have been coherent, given the business card that went home with her after the fact, but she would have been lying if she said she remembered what sorts of words were exchanged.

The cab ride home was an equally hazy affair, one with much less decorum than the trip there. She watched the street lights tick by as she lay in Jowan’s arms, feet propped up in Cullen’s lap, taking solace in the weighty feeling of his hands on her calves. It was strange, this feeling settling into her limbs. It was intoxicatingly euphoric, whatever this was. It felt like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day, like putting on a familiar, well-worn sweater that smells faintly of someone you love--

The soft edges slammed into focus.

She sat up immediately. “Stop the cab,” she said abruptly. “Stop the cab, I have to get out, I have to--”

The cab driver shrugged and pulled over, and she scrambled out over Jowan’s lap, almost tripping directly into the pavement. The world suddenly felt too small, the walls were closing in and her chest was gripped by an alarmingly familiar ache and an equally intense, crippling fear.

This was wrong. This was _wrong_ , because there was no way, no way on this earth this was the correct version of her life.

She felt her knees hit the sidewalk and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t open them. If she did, she would be standing in Kirkwall again, and she wasn’t sure if that was something she could bear the weight of right now.

“Solona.”

Jowan’s voice tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She shook her head. She felt her chest heaving with sobs. Distantly, in the back of her mind, she was aware she was making a scene, but she didn’t know how to hold any of it in. She never had.

“Solona, what’s wrong?” Cullen’s voice this time, floating over her, filled with a familiar confusion.

“I don’t want to wake up,” she gasped through the splitting ache in her chest. “I don’t want to go back. I can’t.”

“We don’t have to, love.” Jowan wrapped her hands in his and helped her stand as Cullen supported her from behind. “This is home now.”

Solona opened her eyes. She could see the street lamps reflecting on Jowan’s cheeks, also wet with tears as he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “This is home,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

“He’s right,” Cullen murmured behind her. She turned and met his gaze, the air slowly returning to her lungs in tiny increments. “Last I checked, we’re all here to stay.”

She nodded slowly, incredulously, looking around at the shops and traffic lights, and at the handful of onlookers glancing over in apparent concern. The air smelled like lavender and magnolia and nothing at all like Kirkwall’s murky blend of industrial smoke and stale saltwater. The signs were all in delicate Orlesian script with the occasional translation beneath here and there. Somewhere to her right, a woman unlocked her car with a dismissive wave of her hand and not a single other person seemed to take notice.

“This is home,” she murmured.

Jowan wiped the tears from her face as Cullen planted a kiss on her forehead. “Home,” Jowan repeated.

“Which, incidentally, is only three blocks away, if you both fancy some fresh air,” Cullen pointed out. “At least, I hope I’m reading that sign correctly.”

The laugh exploded from Solona’s chest, so suddenly she almost didn’t recognize the sound. She turned and planted a kiss square on his lips, then whirled around and kissed Jowan in turn. Reality was shifting again, as it so often did for her, but for the first time in her life, it didn’t feel so bad. 

Her shoes were off before she even made it to the front door. Cullen helped her out of her jacket as her fingers made hasty work of the buttons on Jowan’s shirt. Jowan’s lips met hers, softly at first, with only the slightest hesitation, as Cullen slipped her blouse off of her shoulders. The sounds of two more pairs of shoes hitting the floor rang behind her as she leaned into the kiss. She scraped her teeth across Jowan’s lip and drew a weak moan from his throat that sent shivers of anticipation shooting through her core.

She felt Cullen’s stubble graze her shoulder as he planted a string of hot kisses down her shoulder. Her bra came undone, and she flung it clumsily away from her without a single care for where it landed. She almost tripped over her pants as the three of them stumbled to the bedroom, and she cursed quietly as she kicked them away.

Cullen’s hands trailed down to her hips, then back up to her chest, his touch rough and warm as Jowan buried his fingers in her hair. Cullen rolled a nipple between his fingers and she gasped into Jowan’s mouth, every nerve on overdrive as her body craved more _._

Her body crashed onto the mattress. Cullen clambered on the bed with her, cradling her head in his lap as Jowan pulled away and positioned himself between her legs. It was Cullen’s turn to kiss her now, fervent and passionate. He smelled like mint and aftershave and for a moment all she could focus on was the way his tongue felt against hers.

Jowan parted her gently with his fingertips. Solona shuddered and gasped when he closed his lips around her clit, warmth blooming between her thighs with the sweet ache of arousal.

Cullen swirled his fingers around her nipples as he cupped her breasts with both hands, pinching with just enough pressure to send lightning through her spine. She reached up, blindly, to touch him, any part of him, but he pulled his hands away and closed them over hers. “Not yet,” he whispered into her mouth. “This is for you right now.”

She could only moan in assent, eyes squeezed shut as Jowan’s tongue between her legs sent her spiraling higher and higher.

“There we go,” Cullen murmured, gently stroking her hair. He shifted his legs slightly as he leaned in to kiss her again.

“Fuck,” she whimpered. The static began to build. “Please.”

“Let go,” Cullen whispered.

And she did. She hit her peak and cried out, body trembling under wave after wave of euphoric bliss as Jowan gently brought her back to earth. She slumped back in Cullen’s lap, letting her fingers trail up his torso as he ran his fingers through her curls.

Jowan kissed his way up to her navel, cradling her trembling body with his arms as he planted delicate kisses along her stomach, trailing upward until he gently captured one of her nipples between his teeth.

Cullen slipped out from his position beneath her head and took Jowan’s place at the foot of the bed as she writhed under Jowan’s touch. “Kiss me, please,” she whispered. She could taste herself on Jowan’s lips, was drowning under his touch, losing herself in the sensations of hands and fingers and lips.

She gasped when Cullen entered her, agonizingly slowly, both hands gently grasping her by the hips as he sank into her with deliberate, measured intensity. The friction made her body sing, and she felt her hips moving almost of their own accord, begging him to move faster.

She would have asked out loud, but Jowan’s fingers trailing down her collarbone, his lips ghosting hot kisses down her ear and across her neck, had left her incapable of finding words for much of anything.

“In my mouth,” she finally managed to gasp, fingers closing around Jowan’s wrist. “I want you in my mouth.”

“Anything for you,” he whispered.

She tipped her head back and let her lips close around the tip of his length. It was his turn to shudder as she swirled her tongue around the head. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, closing them just tight enough to slowly pump him as Cullen drove into her, each stroke intentional and methodical and filling her with a need so intense it was almost painful.

Where her end was vocal and filled with explosive fireworks, Jowan’s was gentle and quiet. He instinctively moved to withdraw, but she tapped him on the thigh and shook her head ever so slightly, mentally pleading for him not to move. She needed to taste him, needed it so badly it was driving her frantic with desire. She caught his hand in hers and squeezed it, gentle and reassuring as she met his eyes a split second before he gripped back tightly, eyes closing, hips bucking into her mouth as he came.

And Maker, was he a beautiful sight when he did, the way his tousled brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his freckled chest heaving as he caught his breath. The way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he squeezed them shut, the faintest shy smile blooming across his face.

He was breathtaking, and in this moment she wondered how she had ever pushed him away. She prayed she never would again.

Cullen paused then, withdrawing from her and drawing a whine of protest from her lips. He held out a hand and pulled her gently upright into a deep kiss. “Sit on my face,” he murmured teasingly against her lips. “I want to taste you too.”

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to ask it. She’d never really speculated overmuch on the nature of their relationship with each other at this point; she’d never seen them be particularly affectionate with each other without her involved. Part of her, truthfully, feared the answer, feared what it would do to this fragile sense of tranquility she’d finally managed to grasp, but the question slipped from her love-drunk lips before she could hold it in:

“Can you kiss each other?”

Cullen’s eyebrows raised, and she heard Jowan shift on the bed behind her. Anxiety gripped her suddenly, and she nervously began to shrink into herself. “You don’t...you don’t have to,” she stammered. “It would...I think it would...”

“I think it would be nice,” Jowan finished. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“As do I,” Cullen murmured reassuringly. He took her hands in his and squeezed them, and when she looked closer, a shy flush had crept into his cheeks.

She scooted back on the bed then, equal parts reassured and transfixed as their lips met. Jowan’s kisses were always tentative at first, each brush of his lips a question softly begging for an answer. Cullen kissed back firmly, decisive and precise, one hand nestling gently along Jowan’s jawline, the other winding into Jowan’s hair.

It was one thing to kiss Jowan. It was another thing entirely to watch Jowan _be_ kissed. Jowan melted into Cullen’s arms, gripping tightly to his back as Cullen claimed his lips, then pulled away and nipped gently at his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck. The way they moved together, hands seeking purchase, bodies aligned, filled her with a need she didn’t even know she had, and she reached between her legs and slipped two fingers into herself with a breathless moan.

She pumped in and out of herself, rubbing furiously at her clit with her thumb, letting out an audible gasp when Jowan disengaged and slowly sank to his knees, hands gripping Cullen’s hips and thighs as he slowly took Cullen’s cock in his mouth. “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, that is. Maker. You’re both so beautiful.”

“Wait,” Cullen murmured. He ran his fingers through Jowan’s hair before reaching down and gently tugging him to his feet. “I want both of you.”

Solona couldn’t keep her hands off of him as he positioned himself on the bed beneath her. Jowan knelt between Cullen’s legs, and when he looked up at her through sweat soaked hair she almost came right then.

How was he so beautiful? How were they both so beautiful?

How close had she come to losing them both?

And then Cullen’s tongue swiped her clit and her thoughts sank into blissful surrender. She fought to keep her eyes open as she rode him, shuddering when he moaned into her. Jowan’s head bobbed up and down on Cullen’s cock, one hand wrapped around the base of it, the other pressed into the mattress. Her breathing quickened as Cullen traced shapes into her slit, teasing at the tip of her clit until she felt her limbs would catch on fire.

She couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. It was too much, everything was too much, and she was lost without an anchor in a wash of sensation and emotion. She searched for Jowan’s hand on the mattress. Jowan laced his fingers into hers and squeezed, and she wondered if it were possible for her heart to explode with the intensity of it all.

“Please,” she murmured again. She clung to them both, Jowan’s hand in her right, Cullen’s gripped tightly to her left, thighs aching as she climbed into the stratosphere. “Please, please, please.”

She felt Cullen shudder and jerk beneath her, moaning into her as he came, and the vibrations sent her teetering over her peak, plunging into a wave of color and sound and oh, Maker, oh _fuck_ \--

When she opened her eyes again, she was cradled between them both. She lay there for a moment in disbelieving silence, listening to them breathe on either side of her, drinking in the warmth of their chests as Cullen nuzzled her forehead with his lips and Jowan whispered soft “I love you”s into the nape of her neck. Twinkling orbs of mage light danced lazily on the ceiling.

This _was_ home, she realized. It was home on a level that shook her to her core, in a way she’d never, _ever_ experienced, because this was a home that would be here when the dust settled. This was a home that could exist for good, a home that came with so much more than the desperate but empty promises of a morning that had never before been guaranteed.

But morning would come.

Morning would come, and she would still be home.


End file.
